Page 103 of Mates for the Raskarrans #1-6

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Vantos

M y heartspace thunders as I scoop Rachel up into my arms, carrying her back to the camp, her distress cutting through me like a knife.

I set her down as gently as I can, handing her my waterskin so she can rinse her mouth and soothe her throat.

She takes it with a big, gulping sob, and I am almost unable to stop myself hauling her into my arms again and holding her close.

It will not help her. And though it may make me feel better in the short term, I will not feel easy until I have returned her to Shemza to examine.

He will know how to make her better. He will fix the weariness that has come over her these last few sunsets.

He will take the grey tone out of her skin.

He will make the tears stop streaming down her cheeks.

My poor Rachel. She must be so frightened.

And I, her protector, have failed her. I could see she was struggling, could see she was not herself, but have continued to keep my distance regardless, because I could not bear to be close to her without holding her in my arms and touching her as mates do.

I am a selfish, terrible male and it is no wonder that Lina does not see fit to grant me Rachel as my mate. Not when I have failed in my most basic duty as a warrior of my tribe.

I tidy up the camp, casting aside the meal I have made.

I will hunger, it is no matter to me. Rachel will not wish to eat now, so I am not neglecting her needs in this.

No, I will do everything I can to get her back to our village as soon as possible, starting with forgoing my meal.

We are not far out now, and I will run the last stretch if I have to in order to get home before the sun starts to set.

I tie the top of my bag shut. Rachel reaches for hers, but I take it from her, tying it to mine so I can carry both.

It pains my heartspace that she thinks I would expect her to carry her things when she is so clearly unwell.

I will show her what she should already be certain of - that I will bear her burdens for her, that I will make sure she is safe and happy.

Even if I have to do it from a distance, or at great cost to my own happiness. I do not matter. She does.

I shoulder both bags, hers so light I barely notice it. Rachel gets to her feet, wobbling a little, and makes to start walking, but I stop her, lifting her back up into my arms.

“ Yudonhaffto, ” she protests, gesturing for me to put her down. But her voice is soft and scratchy, her gestures weak, which only convinces me that I am right to carry her.

“You must save your energy for getting well, my Rachel,” I say to her. “I will use my strength to get us the rest of the way home.”

I try to keep the fear out of my voice, to be calm and reassuring - lending her the strength of my spirit as well as the strength of my legs.

I think it works, for she settles against me, her head pressed to my chest. If she can hear the rapid beat of my heartspace, I hope she thinks it only a result of my exertions. That my fear does not infect her.

I start walking as fast as I can without jarring her.

With my longer stride, stronger legs, I am able to move almost twice as fast as we have been, eating up the path before us.

The closer we get to the village, the flatter, the clearer, the path gets, so I keep moving faster as the terrain allows, until I am practically running.

Every so often, I glance down at Rachel, checking that she is okay.

Always, she is burrowed against me, her face turned into my chest. Her normally smiling mouth is down turned, and her always pale skin looks colourless.

Had I been asked a few sunsets back, I would not have thought it possible for Rachel to look paler, but she does, and that is what scares me the most.

I know I will be returning to my village in shame.

My failure to keep her safe and well will make me worthy of my tribe brothers’ scorn.

I do not care. I will bear it all just to have her safely within the healer’s hut.

I will run whatever errands Shemza requires - fetch medicines from far and wide if that’s what it takes to get Rachel well again.

We arrive at the outskirts of the village in the early evening.

In my haste, I have covered the ground I expected to cover by midday tomorrow, walking with Rachel.

My chest feels tight, and I am not sure if it is simply exertion, or if my fear is playing its part.

Either way, I do not pause to greet my tribe brothers as I rush to the healer’s hut, bursting through the door and startling Grace and Shemza.

“Rachel!” Grace says, rushing to her tribe sister’s side.

I want to snarl and hold Rachel close to me, but this is irrational and I stamp the instinct down, instead, setting Rachel on the floor as gently as I can. Grace slips an arm round her waist and guides her over to the bed where I spent so much time convalescing.

Rachel bursts into fresh tears, and Grace immediately wraps her arms around Rachel, talking to her in a low, calm voice that sounds far more steady than I managed to be. Though I am still worried, I feel calmer now, relieved that Rachel is where she needs to be.

“What happened?” Shemza asks, coming to my side.

“I do not know,” I say. “She has sickened on the journey home. We have not travelled hard, and we have eaten as well as travellers can. But she has been growing paler, more unhappy. And now she has been sick and cried many tears. Is she in pain? What can be done to help her?”

Shemza watches Rachel a moment as Grace dabs away her tears with a cloth and strokes her hair.

“ Therenow,” Grace says. “ Talktume. Tellmewasswrong.”

“I do not think she is in pain,” Shemza says, shooting me a reassuring look. “At least, not pain of the body. Pain of the heartspace, perhaps.”

“She has been sick. Pain of the heartspace does not cause such things.”

I am being snappy, and I should not. I am not a healer. Shemza knows better than I could.

“You would be surprised what pain of the heartspace can cause the body to do,” Shemza says, his voice calm, no reprimand or judgement, though I deserve both.

He is a good male, a better male than I could ever be.

“ Grace, ” Rachel says, her voice cracking. “ Ahmpregnant. ”

Grace’s eyes widen in an expression of shock, and I nearly howl at the fear and agony that splinters through me.

I want to go to Rachel’s side, to envelop her in my embrace.

Protect her from whatever has made Grace look so surprised and worried.

But Shemza’s fingers close around my arm and he draws me away, out of the healer’s hut.

“Come,” he says. “Give them some space.”

“What is wrong with her?” I demand, biting out the words.

Shemza just shakes his head. “Nothing. She is fine.”

“She is not fine. Have you lost all your healer’s skill since I saw you last?”

Shemza does not rise to my anger, just stares me out, his expression never shifting from calm.

“I do not know many of the human words,” he says. “But I have taken care to learn the ones relevant to me. Rachel just told Grace that she carries a youngling. This is why she is sick. It is quite common in the first stages. Give it another few sunsets, and Liv and Ellie will feel the same.”

I open and close my mouth a few times, unable to process his words. I think my heartspace actually freezes for a moment, my whole body in shock at this revelation.

“But she has been so grey, so sickly looking,” I say, sure that the answer to Rachel’s ills cannot be so simple. So joyous.

Shemza nods. “Growing a youngling is a burden on females. Think how you would feel if you had a raskarran growing inside you - eating your food, using your energy. Think how you would feel with all that while having to recover from hungering so many sunsets on the sands. Rachel is lucky that her body did not reject her youngling to protect itself.”

I know this can happen - that it can happen for no apparent reason.

It is not the fault of the female, just one of the many ways that nature can be cruel.

I did not know that it could happen if a female grows too weak, though it does make sense.

The females carrying younglings that I remember from my childhood - they were always showered with care by the tribe, protected.

They were never allowed to grow even a little weak.

And I pushed Rachel to walk faster, cover more distance, because I wanted more time to hold her in my arms.

“I have made this worse,” I say, my whole body sagging with the knowledge. Shemza catches me by the arm, holding me upright.

“I doubt that very much,” he says. “You carried her here when she sickened, did you not? You cared for her when she needed it.”

“I have made her walk great distances. I should have stopped more, allowed her to rest.”

Shemza shakes his head. “Perhaps that is true, but you did not know, did you? You have come here full of fear that she is dying of some sickness. You would not have been so afraid if you knew the truth. And you would have carried her all the way to Darran’s village, and all the way back home, no doubt. ”

There is a hint of tease in his voice. Part of me wants to snarl and snap at him, but Shemza is not the sort to tease lightly. He is closer to my temperament than he is to Maldek and Rardek’s. If he is teasing, he must feel confident that Rachel is going to be just fine.

“I would not have let her feet touch the floor except to rest, it is true,” I say.

Shemza pats me on the back. “Rest easy, brother. I will give her roots to settle her stomach, and a tea to help her sleep. A couple of sunsets, and she will be feeling much better.”

My relief is enormous, swelling in my chest until I feel fit to float into the branches overhead. But a weight holds me down, a hard pit of fear in the bottom of my stomach.